


A Revenge Served Warm (And Sickeningly Sweet)

by jenna_sais_pas



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Gender-Neutral Pronouns for Pidge | Katie Holt, Hunk is too good for this world, Implied/Referenced Homophobia, Keith is a Knife Gay, Lance is smart and beautiful and will be treated as such, M/M, Minor Allura/Shiro (Voltron), Mutual Pining, Pidge lives on coffee and revenge, Pining Keith (Voltron), Spite dating, Voltron Secret Valentine 2017, also I swear a lot sorry, can't believe that's not a tag smh
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-02-14
Updated: 2017-03-20
Packaged: 2018-09-24 10:52:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 10,804
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9720404
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jenna_sais_pas/pseuds/jenna_sais_pas
Summary: Like the damn hopeful idiot he is, Lance doesn’t even put it together at first. He honestly looks at Keith and wonders if he’s there on a date, and if so, with who?But at no point does it occur to Lance that it might be a terrible idea to lazily lift one hand and wave the guy over.Which had led him to this point, sitting at this dumbass fancy restaurant, on this dumbass corporate holiday, in that dumbass tie that Lance had, for whatever reason, thought was a good idea and wouldn’t make him look like a total tool, across from Pidge’s dumbass roommate. But hey, on the bright side, no tie would ever make Lance look like as much of a douche as Keith’s angry scowl and his dumbass fucking mullet.--secret valentine gift that was very much not finished by valentine's day oops





	1. curse you student debt

**Author's Note:**

  * For [thesearchingastronaut](https://archiveofourown.org/users/thesearchingastronaut/gifts).



> So this turned out... long. As in, there's another 30k long. As in, more than I've ever written? And I did it in like a week so... it needs some editing, friends
> 
> This is the only part that really relates to Valentine's Day though, so here it is.
> 
> [Also I have a playlist for this fic, if you're into that.](https://open.spotify.com/user/122481879/playlist/7mTasnZrXpUPXCExMwLPDx)

In retrospect, Lance really should’ve seen this coming. 

The last time Hunk had been willingly involved in his love life was the time he’d asked Lance for his girlfriend’s address so he could hang out with her and get to know her better, and then staked out her apartment all night to get pictures of her and the guy she was secretly sleeping with. Which, totally a sweet thing to do, but also definitively underhanded and really only supporting the fact that the only time Hunk had ulterior motives was when he acted like he didn’t. 

So it should have come as no surprise that the Valentine’s date Hunk had set up for him was this shitshow. Knowing Hunk, he probably thought Lance wouldn’t even show up, and then he would just be able to tease him about how he’d passed up on such a great guy for Valentine’s, all the while knowing who it actually was. 

Well, joke’s on him because Lance had been feeling incredibly and grippingly alone that week and probably would’ve gone out with a dumpster wearing the right perfume. 

Okay, actually, the joke really wasn’t all that funny and was actually terribly depressing the further Lance thought about it, but it was still on Hunk, so, there. 

The point being, Hunk did not have a great track record when it came to this sort of thing, and Lance had an even worse track record of trusting him anyway. Which had led him to this point, sitting at this dumbass fancy restaurant, on this dumbass corporate holiday, in that dumbass tie that Lance had, for whatever reason, thought was a good idea and wouldn’t make him look like a total tool, across from Pidge’s dumbass roommate. But hey, on the bright side, no tie would ever make Lance look like as much of a douche as Keith’s angry scowl and his dumbass fucking mullet. 

The evening had been going well for a total of ten minutes, which was, incidentally, exactly how late his mystery date. Lance was thumbing through the wine list trying desperately to look a little less ”teenager on a date” but he wouldn’t even be 21 until next August and there was no way he could’ve ordered one with a straight face anyway; growing up speaking mostly Spanish was the opposite of helpful trying to read some of those names. He was also trying to look around discretely (which, being Lance, meant incredibly conspicuously) for the guy Hunk swore was _just_ what Lance needed in a date. A real classic tall, dark, and handsome, except that he wasn’t like, _too_ tall (still shorter than Lance, and damn Hunk for knowing all of his kinks), and the dark was mostly in terms of his sense of humor, and the handsome would have to be evaluated by someone a lot less straight than Hunk—and didn’t that just describe Lance in one phrase (Hunk’s words, not his). 

At that point in his description, Hunk had dissolved into what Lance almost dared call a fit of giggles, muttering something about “keeping him on his toes”, which Lance had assumed referred to Mystery Man but which evidently had more to do with Hunk’s need for monthly pranks. 

Anyway, Mystery Man was ten minutes late and Lance was starting to do the thing where he overcompensates for his insecurities by being as loud and overtly happy as possible, (which Hunk would argue was his entire personality, and it really was a shame that he didn’t even need Hunk around anymore to constantly scold himself) chatting exaggeratedly with the waiter about the night’s specials as if he hadn’t already found the cheapest thing on the menu and wasn’t currently writing a small haiku in his head about the woes of college student budgets at the sight of the bacon-wrapped steak on the table next to his. 

_curse you student debt_

_you’re the reason i’m so poor_

_and always hungry_

And he’s fighting the urge to look at his watch again, until he remembers he took the damn thing off anyway because it’s like five years old and barely even works because he always wears it in the shower, when he catches a glimpse of black out of the corner his eye and as much as Pidge insists he’s exaggerating, Lance really _would_ recognize that mullet anywhere. 

Like the damn hopeful idiot he is, Lance doesn’t even put it together at first. He honestly looks at Keith and wonders if he’s there on a date, and if so, with who? And how? How did he get someone to go out with him with his sour attitude and stupid hair and who knew Keith even owned dress shirts? Lance wonders what kind of guy would be able to get the edgelord himself to wear white in public, and then he stubbornly does not follow that train of thought. 

But at no point does it occur to Lance that it might be a terrible idea to lazily lift one hand and wave the guy over, and really it was just because his dramatic brooding looks (that were clearly just there to cover up the underlying confusion and uncertainty) were starting to get annoying. 

Keith’s expression goes from absolutely bewildered, to eyes narrowed in suspicion, and then back to vaguely angry again within a matter of seconds, but Lance tracks it all. Keith glances to each side before reluctantly walking over to Lance’s table, which is a booth in the corner near the entrance, so it isn’t even that far of a walk but damn if Mullet Man doesn’t absolutely drag his feet the whole way there. Which gives Lance plenty of time to analyze and process the look of begrudging anger on Keith’s face as he approaches, and the fact that his gaze no longer seems to be flitting across the room. 

Keith sits down in the seat across from Lance in a suitably dramatic manner, the cushion letting out a small hiss as he sinks further into it. 

And because even though he’s starting to identify that sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach, Lance is still both a masochist and an optimist at heart, and he asks anyway, “Well, what brings you here, Keithy boy? This is a rather classy place, and unlike you, I don’t see them hiding any parties in the back. I’m kind of waiting on someone.”

The sigh that followed was truly an inspiration. Professional singers, swimmers, and harmonica players around the world took a collective and suitably long gasp at the lung capacity it must have required. “I broke Pidge’s coffee pot. Evidently this is what they meant when they said they’d found me a date who would keep me occupied while they finally got some sleep.”

After an impressively short recovery time to this not-really-revelation, Lance raised a single eyebrow, more for the slight blush that appeared on Keith’s cheeks than the actual innuendo, but never let it be said that Lance was not an opportunist, and what better to distract him from the injustice of the situation.

Keith huffed out another rough breath. He was getting seriously good at that. Or seriously bad—what if that was like a medical condition of some sort, being able to let out breaths that long?

“So, what, Pidge thought we would just end up killing each other and you’d be out of their hair?”

Keith shoved a hand through his bangs, which just fell back into place nearly immediately. “Please, more like they thought I would outright murder you, and then end up either in jail or on the run.”

Lance chuckled lowly. “Yeah, that does sound like Pidge.” He looked over at Keith, long and slow. The kid really did look a mess; Lance shuddered to think what living with an uncaffeinated Pidge must be like. 

The two sat in silence for a moment, Keith breaking it with a gruff “So what’d you do to piss off Hunk?”

Lance gave the question a careful consideration, turning over the last few weeks in his head, but really, he was kind of the perfect roommate, minus the singing and the dancing and the constant running commentary, but Hunk was also kind of a saint, so revenge seemed unlikely. “Nothing. Fucker probably just thought it’d be hilarious.”

“Absolutely hysterical, alright.” Keith responded flatly, looking across at Lance with a fire in his eyes that startled him a bit. It was a look he was quite used to, only he was usually the one who put it there. It was a great deal more intimidating from this perspective. And quite a bit more attractive, if Lance was being honest. But he wasn’t, so… yeah. Scary and definitely not hot, got it. 

The two continued to sit there in silence, Lance for once gladly joining in on Keith’s brooding. The more he thought about it, the more it really pissed him off. Hunk knew this kind of shit was hard for him; he’d been there when he came out as bi to his parents, he’d been there when his first real girlfriend had dumped him for being too clingy, he had been there when Lance came back to the dorm crying the first time that jerk had hit him. Maybe Hunk was just trying to lighten the dark scene that was Lance’s love life, but it really just stung. Like Hunk was saying he was so hopeless with love he’d have better luck dating Mr. “My emotional range is from a high Being-a-D to a low B-eing Flat”. 

Being pissed really brought the musical puns to a crescendo, huh.

And on that note, (Lance really needed to stop, he was going to start laughing at his own internal jokes and there was no reason to further supply Keith’s honestly, fair, assumptions about his mental health) Lance made up his mind. He leaned across the table, tenting his fingers together and ignoring the concerned looks of his waiter as he passed by their table again. 

“So are we getting dinner or what, mullet man? It seems to me we’ve got some plotting to do.”

* * *

Keith really did not need to justify how he was feeling; Pidge would’ve said it was perfectly reasonable to have emotions sometimes. Except that the emotion was anger towards Pidge, so on second thought maybe they wouldn’t have agreed. 

No, they probably still would. God, maybe that was why they’d sent on him on this torture session in the first place—practice with emotions or some shit.

Pidge probably just expected him to be so blinded with rage towards Lance that he’d get distracted and miss the emotional manipulation. Well, they were… almost right, but never let it be said that Keith would pass by an opportunity to get mad. No, that would probably be in his moral code, if it existed. 

Because this was some serious bullshit. No amount of sleep deprivation could have merited him deserving _this_. He’d even offered to go and pick up coffee every morning! But the only coffee shop within walking distance was Starbucks, and Pidge was in the middle of some silent protest against corporatism, so it would probably have put them in an even worse mood, as impossible as that seemed. But Keith had never thought it would get to the point of conspiring against him with Hunk, of all people. Hunk, the kind and sweet guy who really had to be a saint to have been putting up with Lance for this long. Hunk, who always included him when they hung out as a group, even if Lance was pointedly ignoring him or doing that weird thing where he smiles really widely and kinda scream-yells polite things at you? (Okay, Keith would be the first to admit he had issues, but at least he kept them somewhat hidden, seriously. It was kind of a relief when he figured out Lance just didn’t like him, he’d honestly thought something was _wrong_ with him when they first met.) Hunk, who had been the one who suggested he room with Pidge, because he had an 8am class with them and had to listen all of their complaints about their old roommate, and…. _Oh._

Well, shit, now Keith almost felt bad. Apparently Lance really hadn’t done anything wrong, and this whole disaster was Keith’s fault from all angles. And also it was still kind of his fault for coming in the first place because Pidge was really not that great of a liar, and Keith totally could’ve figured it out when Pidge said they’d “found a hot date to keep him occupied and out of the room while I hibernate until finals, who is totally attractive and you’ll probably even have a good time,” because Pidge is as stubbornly asexual as they come, and if they could deliver that line without even a mocking giggle, then something was definitely up. 

But then he looked over at Lance’s stupid smirk and promptly decided that, no, he really didn’t feel bad at all. Keith was a perfectly pleasant person to be around, in fact. Lance should be so lucky to go on a date with him!

Okay, that was maybe stretching it a lot, but Pidge would’ve been proud of that moment of non-self-deprecation. Self-appreciation? Well that just sounded obnoxious. 

Point being, Lance was involved, so realistically it was probably Lance’s fault, not his. 

Keith realized they had been sitting in silence for a while, and that he really was starting to get hungry. A waiter passed by with a steaming plate of something green that smelled delicious and Keith seriously contemplated asking if the restaurant did to-go orders. If Keith was willing to pay, would they really turn him away?

He glanced around to see if there was a waiter nearby and nearly ran into Lance’s face. How had he even gotten that close, the table was pretty wide? Fuck Lance for being so tall anyway (no, nope, definitely do _not_ fuck Lance, terrible idea, Keith). 

Lance cleared his throat a little, fingers knitting together in some shitty anime villain pose. “So are we getting dinner or what, mullet man? It seems to me we’ve got some plotting to do.”

Keith shifted backwards, surprised. Lance, willingly proposing that they spend time together? Keith almost said as much, but. Food. And revenge. 

Maybe Lance really was after his heart. 

* * *

Their waiter came by again, and Lance got his answer. The guy narrowed his eyes when Keith ordered a water and confidently stated that he would need a few minutes to review the menu, glancing back and forth between Lance and Keith. And for some reason, Lance’s first thought was that the guy thought Keith was too good-looking for Lance. That the guy couldn’t believe Keith was really going out with him. Like he looked at Keith for a minute and just accidentally ended up in a world where homophobia didn’t exist. 

Except that Keith had noticed the waiter’s behaviour as well and reached out across the table, grabbing Lance’s hand and smiling sweetly. Of course, that’s following Keith’s definition of “sweet”, which was probably about as sweet as tabasco and vinegar. 

And, well, the waiter made a face so forced and unpleasant he may well have been tasting said tabasco and vinegar. 

Keith’s ferocious little grin turned back to Lance and brought abruptly to attention the tight grip around his hand. The one that was just kind of hanging there limply, because on the list of things Lance had thought he might have to do with it that night, holding Keith’s hand fit somewhere between eating the overpriced fancy foods without silverware and jacking off that raccoon he’d seen in the alley when he walked in. 

Lance shifted to face the waiter, attempting to distract all parties from the weird and sweaty process of unentangling his hand from Keith’s. 

“Uh, yeah, I’ll also take some water. Thanks.” The waiter narrowed his eyes, gaze still lighting occasionally on their clasped hands.

Which, update: Keith was not helping him out here at all. If anything, Keith seemed to be holding his hand even more tightly. Like he thought Lance was trying to pull away, when all he was trying to achieve was a slightly less awkward configuration, maybe even some interlocked fingers, instead of sitting here with this boy holding his hand captive like a goddamn heathen. Did he even know how hand holding worked? 

The waiter nodded hesitantly, hands fluttering over the menus before remembering that Keith had asked to keep his. They performed an uncertain dance over the table instead, as though taking cues from the awkwardness currently ensuing. The guy, greasy bangs tucked behind one ear, ducked his head a bit and ran away, looking back slightly one last time at their clasped hands held on display over the table. 

Speaking of which, they’d sorted out the positioning but Keith’s grip still kind of burned? Why was it doing that, did Keith have some kind of body heat problem? Too much blood in his hands and not enough in his heart? 

As soon as the waiter turned the corner, Keith ripped his hand away as if the whole thing hadn’t been his idea anyway. 

Lance pretended to look over the menu again, glancing up at Keith the whole time. He finally let out a small cough, the silence more suffocating than Keith’s weird death-grip hand-hold had been. 

Keith raised his eyes for just a second to meet Lance’s before quickly directing them downwards again. More at the table than at Lance, he mumbled, “Sorry, I just… uh, didn’t like the way he was looking at us, it seemed pretty rude, especially for Valentine’s Day.” 

“I know, right? It’s like, _the_ corporate holiday, you’d think they’d be more concerned about losing such an important sector.”

“The gay sector?”

“Of course. I bet it’s even rainbow-coloured on the pie charts too.” 

Keith let out this soft little snort and Lance immediately preened. Sitting back up, he noticed the waiter coming back with their waters and no sign of an improved attitude. 

As the waiter stepped up, setting the waters down none too gently, Lance leaned forward, just slightly too close to be comfortable. With a smirk and his best guess at a “loving” look, he called out confidently, “So what’re you thinking, babe? And remember, it’s my treat, since you bought last year’s.”

Keith set the menu down and ordered, keeping an eye on Lance as he did so. Both knew Lance wasn’t serious, but both knew it had sounded like a challenge anyway. 

Lance was resigning himself to ordering soup to make up for whatever punishment Keith was about to enact when he heard him order the bacon-wrapped steak that Lance had been ogling since he arrived. Well, his mistake. 

Lance added his menu to the pile and casually told the waiter, “Oh, we’ll be sharing.” 

The reactions out of both men made it well worth it. The waiter shook his head and grabbed the menus unceremoniously and stalked off.

Keith, on the other hand, was now fully glaring at Lance again. In a weird way, it was kind of nice to have back. 

“What, do I look like I’m made of money? I wanted that dish anyway, this is the only situation in which I can actually sign the check at the end of the night. Besides, I thought it’d be a nice touch for our friend here.”

Keith’s nostrils flared. “No way were you actually serious about paying for me. You just want to be able to steal my food.”

Lance tilted his, faux contemplative. “Well, you’re not wrong.”

A commotion distracts both of them, the sound of something metal crashing to a tile floor and a frustrated groan carrying over into the dining area. The particulars aren’t audible, but Lance turns his body in almost a full circle attempting to see what was going on. A few tense seconds pass, the whole restaurant seemingly holding its breath. It was a bizarre feeling of unity, people from all different areas and situations anticipating together what was about to happen. 

The end result, however, was satisfying only to Lance and Keith, the only ones who knew what must have happened when their waiter stomped out of the kitchen, half-apron thrown dramatically to the floor and tie loosened. He threw a paper of some sort at the ground and stomped out. 

The vague ringing of the metal from earlier could be head above everything else before the restaurant seemed to collectively shrug and resume their prior business. 

Lance was still staring at the door with amazement and more than a little glee. He swung his legs back into the booth and looked over at Keith, wide smile dimpling his cheeks. 

“Dude, did you see that? We totally just drove that dude over the edge by like, holding hands. That was awesome!”

Keith blinked back at him from under long bangs before letting loose a biting smirk, like the ominous glowing coals to his previous grin’s blazing fire. He looked over at Lance slowly, taking his time with whatever he was thinking about. Finally, in a mirror of Lance’s earlier position, he leaned across the table on his elbows and addressed Lance. 

“You know, you’re right. I think we’re actually pretty good at this.” Keith spoke slowly, maintaining eye contact the whole time.

Lance nodded, more than a little confused. 

Keith continued, looking more sure of himself now. “So, you said we had some plotting to do. You want revenge, right?” 

Lance nodded again. 

“So I’m thinking, we do what we just did, but with Hunk and Pidge.“

Keith was speaking faster now, but Lance finally saw where he was going with this. 

“They wanted us to go on a date so badly? Then they should be thrilled to hear just how well it went.” 

And again, in retrospect, it should have been obvious where this was going. The exhilarating combination of scared and turned on that Lance was feeling, this feeling of falling into an open flame that both burned and warmed, should have warned him. 

Should have made him do anything other than return that dangerous smirk and agree. 

"Sounds good to me. I was just thinking, like, world's biggest whoopee cushion, but that works." 

Keith snorted and leaned back in his seat, and the two began to plot. 


	2. Diving in Headfirst (and other overused swimming metaphors)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Relax, I’m pretty sure Hunk’s not gonna believe we started a committed relationship after one dinner. We’ll start off slow. Ease them into it.”
> 
> “Have any of your relationships ever worked like that?” Keith asked, eyes narrowed. “Don’t you usually jump in feet first, regardless of how shallow the pool is?” Lance shifted in the booth, crossing his arms. For a brief moment, he almost looked hurt, but Keith brushed it off. 
> 
> “Well then I guess you’ll have to be the exception, Keithy. If we want to sell it, we have to be willing to play the long game.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hunk is so pure I have been Cleansed writing his pov.

“Relax, I’m pretty sure Hunk’s not gonna believe we started a committed relationship after one dinner. We’ll start off slow. Ease them into it.”

Keith had almost immediately regretted his idea as soon as it came out of his mouth, but, well, that was true of most things he said. 

Lance was not, however, improving the situation. 

“Have any of your relationships ever worked like that?” Keith asked, eyes narrowed. “Don’t you usually jump in feet first, regardless of how shallow the pool is?” Lance shifted in the booth, crossing his arms. For a brief moment, he almost looked hurt, but Keith brushed it off. 

“Well then I guess you’ll have to be the exception, Keithy. If we want to sell it, we have to be willing to play the long game.” 

* * *

At first, Hunk had wanted to stay up so he could see Lance’s face. Like the devious little sweetheart he was, he’d sat on the couch with a single lamp on, so as to get the lighting suitably dramatic for Lance’s return. He’d giggled a bit to himself, imagining his furious roommate bursting through the door at any moment. 

Hunk had missed this—missed Lance. Not that he’d gone anywhere. In fact, that was the problem. Lance had been hardcore moping for like, a month now. Hunk wasn’t even sure what had started it. He’d started dating Shay two months ago, so that seemed unlikely. Although it certainly hadn’t helped the issue. They were just… drifting apart, and between a new girlfriend, long lab hours, and his upcoming research proposal, Hunk hadn’t had time to figure out what had his best friend so down. 

So, although the date had been Pidge’s idea, Hunk was legitimately hopeful. That Lance would find it funny, that is. Not that Lance and Keith would actually end up together—that was absurd. The two were like baking soda and vinegar together: bitter, volatile, and belonging in a third grade classroom. 

However, Lance had been out for long time now. A worryingly long time. It was completely dark outside now, the only light in the small apartment the antique lamp on the counter. Hunk had never noticed it so much as then, sitting there alone and unnerved. It was really a hideous thing, an abomination Lance had found in his mother’s attic. The whole thing was made out of what looked like ancient paper mâché and its base was a flying pig. Or a pig with wings, at least. Hunk had no idea if it could actually fly; it didn’t look very aerodynamic, in his humble engineering student’s opinion. 

Hunk glanced at the door again because, seriously, did Keith and Lance actually kill each other? What could they possible have been doing this whole time? He rubbed the hem of his shirt between his fingers, worrying it and himself. He’d just pulled his phone out, deciding to call Lance first, 911 second, and Keith third, when the he heard the door slip open. 

Lance walked in, phone in his hand and a vague smile on his face. It died as he entered the living room and saw Hunk. The smile, that is. Lance’s smile died, not his phone. That would’ve been some weird timing. 

“Why are you still up?” Something about Lance’s body language seemed… off to Hunk. He was too still, too contained. It was unnerving. 

“Uh, just wanted to see how your date went.” Okay, yeah, Lance was definitely pissed, if that single eyebrow raise was anything to go by. 

And then Lance glanced away, an expression Hunk couldn’t quite read flitting across his face. Which said a lot, because Hunk had known that kid for most of his remembered existence. He looked like he was holding something back, but whether it was a laugh or a scream, Hunk couldn’t be sure. 

What he did know was that it had been a good 15 seconds since Hunk’s question and Lance had yet to respond. He was starting to fidget, nervous all over again. Hunk had assumed that if the night ended in murder, it’d be Keith’s fault, but the look on Lance’s face was starting to make him seriously doubt that. 

Lance finally broke the silence with… a wide grin? Hunk blinked, entirely caught off guard. 

He took a few steps forward and Hunk flinched a bit, uncertain. Lance reached out and put a single hand on Hunk’s shoulder and leaned in. 

“It was great, actually.” Lance said calmly, not a hint of sarcasm or anger in his voice. 

Then he took a few steps back, still grinning. The hand that had been on Hunk’s shoulder was now rubbing at the back of his neck, his expression turning a bit sheepish. That was Lance’s nervous tick, a movement comforting to see from the apparent stranger that had taken the place of Hunk’s best friend. 

Post-date Lance had only ever taken two forms: sad or dazed. Honestly, most dates ended poorly and Lance just needed a Hunk Special (hugs and cookies, both warm). But occasionally they went well and Lance was bouncing off the walls describing everything about his date, and then what he needed was someone to bring him back to Earth, remind him to be careful and not dive in headfirst. 

So Hunk had no idea what to do with the almost bashful smile he was currently getting from Lance. No dramatic tears or emphatic praising, just a seemingly genuine happiness. 

Hunk had yet to say anything in response, had probably begun staring at this point. Lance chuckled uncertainly and started to walk back to his bedroom. He added, “Really. Thanks, buddy.” 

At that, Hunk sat up, startled. “Wait, what? What do you mean? What happened?” 

“You know, Hunk, you just might have been right. Keith and I make a better pair than I ever would’ve thought.” Lance winked and disappeared into his room. 

Hunk remained frozen on the couch for several more minutes, processing. He was a romantic at heart, sure, but even he couldn’t believe that Keith, Lance’s self-declared _rival_ , was the one who made his friend look so happy. 

Something other than that two-week-old mac and cheese was causing the sour feeling in his gut. 

He thought back to the whole incident with Rolo, Lance’s first boyfriend. Even when no one else had believed him, he’d known from the start that something was off, and he was getting the same feeling here. And while he trusted Keith a lot more than that garbage truck of a human being, Hunk swore he’d get to the bottom of it, just like he always did. 

* * *

Keith had gotten his leftovers after all. Granted, that had been about the only thing that had gone according to plan that night, but somehow he still wanted to count it as a win. 

It was chilly enough outside that he didn’t even worry about his food as he took the long walk home. Okay, not long, but considering he normally took his bike anywhere further than a five minute walk, and generally attempted and approached flight with his speed, the twenty minutes felt like forever.

Plenty of time to reflect on the latest in the series of questionable choices that was his life. 

Keith didn’t hate Lance, by any means. After he’d gotten over the initial awkwardness brought on by not remembering Lance, and the subsequent explanation of their so-called rivalry, Lance had started to warm up around him a bit more. 

Not to him, of course. His conversations with Keith were better named confrontations, mostly consisting of literal and figurative head-butting. But sometimes, Lance would seem to forget Keith was there, or at least forget that he hated him, and actually act himself around Hunk and Pidge. 

It was those moments that Keith always remembered. The competitive flare in his eyes taking on a warmth that seemed to heat up the entire room, the obvious love and care he felt towards his friends. 

It was just… nice. It reminded Keith of the few half-baked “memories” he had of his childhood. Mostly sensations of warmth, of touch, heavily vignetted by the fond, erasing touch of time and memory. 

And then Lance would be in his face again, arguing about something inane and inconsequential, but Keith couldn’t find it in himself to give up. There was something there in Lance, something he desperately wanted to unlock. 

But a strange fascination and unwitting attraction were not grounds for a relationship, fake or not. Keith was absolutely going to regret this, but it would at least be fun on the way down. Assuming he could get past the first obstacle; the fact that he was a horrendous liar and the suspicion that Pidge could smell fear. 

Show time. 

Keith opened the door of his apartment to the flare of a welding torch, the only light in the otherwise dim atmosphere. He stared unflinchingly at the scene, taking off his jacket and stepping inside.

Pidge flipped up the mask, light bouncing off of the frames of their glasses. 

“You seriously wore your glasses under the mask?”

“You seriously just walked in on this scene and that was your only question?”

Keith shrugged, because, fair. 

Pidge set the mask down, moving over to the stove. They gestured for Keith to join them and start flicking the knobs on the side of the appliance. “So I finally get my hands on some worthwhile coffee beans, right? And I come home, ready to drink some goddamn bean juice and discover _this_.”

They were talking rapidly, their hands moving even faster than their words. Keith had forgotten how scary a non-caffeinated Pidge was. They waved wildly at the stove, which was sitting impassively, as stoically unlit as an AA party. 

“The landlord, apparently, has turned off our gas, after the last time.”

Keith nodded sagely, “Understandable.” 

Pidge narrowed their eyes and said, “Yeah, well. Thought you should know.“ 

“Know that I can’t cook anything on the stove or know why you’re heating that pot of water with a blow torch?”

Pidge snorted, shaking their head. “Like you cook anyway, bitch.” 

They moved back to the counter where the pot of water sat and picked the blow torch up again, messing with something on the side. They continued, “I don’t trust microwaves, so this is my only way to heat the water. I had to use that weird pig statue to grind my coffee too.”

Keith eyed the coffee table which, living up to its name, housed a mess of coffee grounds and one sad looking pig statuette. Where had they even gotten that thing? 

Pidge had the blowtorch on again. They weren’t even touching the pot, just admiring the flame. 

He sighed and contemplated scolding them, but thought better of it and sat down on one of the boxes still sitting by the door. The parenting was best left to Shiro anyway. 

He looked around at the boxes again, considering. They’d unpacked the important stuff the first week, but six months into the school year and basically everything non-essential was still ensconced in cardboard. 

It was probably some kind of fire hazard, but honestly, so was he. 

Pidge seemed to have boiled the water satisfactorily, as they called out, “Keith, do me a favor and scrape up the coffee from under the pig.”

Keith did as requested, reflecting on the utter absurdity of his life and smiling fondly. 

As he brought the coffee over, Pidge caught the smile on his face and hesitated. They gathered the grounds out of Keith’s hands and dumped it into the pot, muttering _”sanitary.”_ Keith chuckled and that seemed to catch Pidge’s attention. 

“You’re acting awfully… smiley.” Pidge glanced sideways, momentarily distracted. 

Keith started to answer but was interrupted by Pidge dashing across the room, nearly knocking him over. 

“Shit shit shit, I need to cover it, where is it?” 

Pidge was tearing through one of the boxes by the door. Keith dodged a projectile plastic plate haphazardly thrown over Pidge’s shoulder. Alright, so maybe the unpacking was a bit of an issue. 

They emerged triumphantly with the lid for the pot, which Keith was genuinely surprised actually made it in one piece. What college kid actually had pots with matching lids?

Pidge rushed back over and covered the coffee concoction, breathing a deep sigh of relief. 

They leaned back against the counter, breathing a little heavily, and pushed their glasses up their nose. “So speaking of delightful evenings, then, how was the date?”

“Does my answer determine whether or not I’m forgiven for breaking the coffee maker?” 

Pidge appraised him carefully, considering the question before shaking their head. “Nah, I’ve actually got some schematics in progress for a better one anyway.”

Keith nodded, unsurprised. “Then it was… good.” 

He watched carefully for a reaction, but got none. Granted, Pidge’s glasses were entirely steamed up and made them look even more impassive than normal, but Keith decided he needed to step it up.

“Like, really good, actually. Thanks.” Steeling himself, he headed off into his room, twirling a bit as he went. 

The door slammed behind him, still no word from Pidge. 

And okay, the twirling was probably a bit much. He couldn’t help that he was basing this entirely off of rom coms, it was kind of the only source material he had. Which made Keith feel a little pathetic, but not as pathetic as he felt when he showed up for the date, so, worth it. 

He pulled out his phone, not feeling like turning on the light switch just to get into bed. There was a text waiting there, though, far too innocuous for its contents. 

**from: Lance** (11:04 PM)

I’ve been thinking about you a latte. In fact, I can feel something brewing between us… Coffee tomorrow? ;)

* * *

“Alright, Hunk, I’m headed out for coffee. I’ll see you when I get back?” 

“Wait, what? Coffee? With whom?” Hunk scrambled out of the chair, textbook falling off of his lap and onto the ground. Great, he’d probably drooled on it and the thing was worth more than his firstborn. 

Lance was standing at the door casually, as if it was normal for him to have a date and not have talked Hunk’s ear off about it beforehand. Although, maybe it wasn’t a date?

Lance smiled sheepishly at Hunk’s questions and, nope, definitely a date. 

“Uh, you know… Keith.”

_”What?”_ Hunk was _definitely_ awake now. There was no way… It had to have been some kind of strange dream, their conversation last night. Hunk had figured, best case scenario, the date would lead to them getting kicked out of the restaurant and having it out in the parking lot. In no situation had he thought it would lead to _more dates_. 

“Well, as I’m sure you’re aware, there’s not a lot of coffee in the Kogane-Holt household right now, so I asked him to go get some with me today.”

“And he said _yes_?!” Hunk had the decency to look at least a little regretful when Lance flashed him a glare. 

“Well, I _was_ feeling pretty good about this, so thanks for the boost of confidence.” 

“I’m sorry, I’m just.. _Keith?_ Keith. Keith Kogane agreed to go to coffee with you.” 

“Really feeling the love here, buddy.” 

Hunk was still deeply suspicious, but he recovered and looked back at Lance. 

“Yeah, well, I guess that’s what Keith’s for, huh?” He waggled his eyebrows a bit. Hunk knew he’d caught him there, no way would Lance be able to keep up the façade with an insinuation like that.

But instead, Lance’s smile only grew. He actually looked away dreamily a bit before responding, “Hopefully, yeah.”

What. The. Heck. 

Hunk glanced around, checking for hidden cameras. Lance was still standing at the door, looking at Hunk. 

“Okay, well, uh, have fun, I guess. Tell Keith I say hi?”

Lance smiled widely again—gosh, that was getting unnerving—and walked out, swinging the door shut behind him. And if Hunk was skeptical before, what he saw then sealed the deal. 

He panicked, diving back into the chair to search for his phone. He called Pidge, cutting them off as soon as they answered with a panted, “He’s wearing the jeans.”

_”What?”_

“This is a Code Red, Pidge. He’s wearing the jeans. You know… _the jeans_. “

_”You mean his ass jeans?”_

Hunk flinched at the word, but nodded. “Yeah, those.”

_”Shit.”_

Hunk couldn’t help but agree. 

* * *

Keith was early. He’d tried not to be, had stalled around the apartment for as long as possible, but Pidge had left before he was even awake so there was no one there to put on a show for. 

Not that Keith was doing particularly well at that. God, he was the worst liar, it was astounding he hadn’t already been found out. There was literally no way in which this turned out well. He’d thought it would be funny when he suggested it, a sort of poetic justice, but now it was starting to feel more like assisted suicide.

Seriously, in what world had Keith thought agreeing to more dates with Lance was a good idea. This was going to be an absolute train wreck, but as utterly unexcited as he was, the thought of admitting he’d been lying to Pidge and not even getting anything out of it? 

Keith had a stubborn streak a mile wide and as long as Lance’s legs. And he’d be damned if he admitted defeat before the first measly coffee date. When he went down, it’d be in a blaze of glory and probably motorcycle fuel, not because of Lance’s annoying taunts and ocean blue eyes. 

But eventually Keith had run out of reasons to delay and figured the best way to make sure he actually went through with it was just leave to leave _right that second_ , before he could change his mind. 

The problem being, that second had been an hour before they were supposed to meet. He’d driven around the block a few times, but he’d started getting suspicious looks from people on the street who’d seen his bike four times in succession, so he’d finally parked the thing and headed in, figuring he could grab a table early and pretend he had a good reason to be there. 

It was only half an hour until eleven at that point, but he was still definitely early. He’d just have to pretend that he’d only been there for a few minutes when Lance showed up. It was fine. 

He started walking back further into the café, but stopped at a short table midway through. It was tucked into a sort of half-corner so that the light was dim, a refreshing change from the overall harshness of the rest of the tables. Less chance of anyone recognizing them there, he figured. Lance always seemed to know people, everywhere they went. How was it even possible for one guy to have so many friends? 

Keith sat at his awkward little table for a few minutes, glaring at his phone, before deciding he’d stayed as long as one could without buying anything yet and made his way to the counter. He was still 15 minutes early, but that was acceptable. Common courtesy, really. 

He stood in line, waiting behind two other students he didn’t recognize. The menu was ridiculous, sprawling and unnecessarily cute. Keith had never understood why restaurants came up with such absurd names for their dishes. Did they think forcing the customer to say things like “jamaican me crazy” and “cowboy carl” out loud was actually going to lead to more people buying them? A smoked turkey sandwich called “You’re smokin’”? A salad just called “will you love me forever?” What the fuck were these people on?

The couple in front of him finished ordering and Keith was left standing there, glaring passionately at the menu. As one does. 

The cashier was shuffling awkwardly now as Keith realized that ordering was probably a thing he should do in this situation. He cleared his throat apologetically and stepped forward when a voice called out, the tone rushing over his neck like an autumn breeze, cool and refreshing. 

“Keith!” 

Oh, wait, no. That was just Lance, opening the door. Where, of course, an actual breeze had come through. Why did Keith have to make everything so gay.

Keith shook his head and turned around, hesitantly greeting Lance. 

“You actually beat me here!” Lance said, stepping up and slinging an arm around his shoulders. 

Keith cleared his throat, determined not to be awkward about it. He forced out a chuckle and took an unsubtle step backward and out from under Lance’s arm. “Uh, yeah. I’ve got us a table in that corner there, I was just about to order.”

Lance, of course did not take the hint. He grinned, a ridiculously wide and sunny affair that had no place in public where people could go blind. “Great! I usually just get the bottomless cup so I can try all the flavors they have.” 

Keith nodded and stepped up to the counter, ordering what Lance had said. And it was stupid how appreciative he was that Lance had given him the suggestion, how dare be that effortlessly considerate. 

Before he could pay, Lance stepped in and ordered the same and handed the cashier the credit card.

Keith froze, caught off guard, before stuttering out, “You—you don’t need to do that?”

Lance waved him off and continued paying. “This date was my idea anyway. Besides, I’d give it a 70% chance Pidge is surveilling right now and if this was a real date, there’s no way I’d let you pay.”

How was Lance so okay with this whole thing? How was he keeping his cool, smiling charmingly at the cashier who looked so confused and concerned? Keith was about two seconds from sprinting out of this whole situation.

Keith took his mug and headed over to the self-fill section, several large thermistors of coffee set up. He was debating between two when Lance showed up behind him, in his personal space again. Had Lance always done this? 

“My favourite is the Kenyan Peabody. Not because it tastes particularly great or anything, but because the description says it’s brewed specially for Karen. And like, they have it every day. So does Karen come in every day, or do they just want be prepared, in case she does? And who is Karen, why does she get her own brew? Are the rest of us even allowed to drink it?” 

God, Lance was ridiculous. Keith had started giggling under his breath, but realized quickly and got that shit under control. 

“So I get it every time and whenever any middle aged lady who looks vaguely like a Karen comes in, I like to imagine her distress at finding out someone else is drinking her _special_ coffee.” 

“That sounds… dedicated. Is it actually good?”

“Sure! I mean, I don’t think I have a _refined enough palette_ to taste the differences between black coffees, honestly. But it’s definitely good!”

Keith bit his lip, considering, but ended up getting the hazelnut instead. 

He heard Lance laughing lightly as they headed back to the table. “Who would’ve thought Mr. Mullet would have a sweet tooth.”

Keith glared at him silently over the mug. But, well, he wasn’t wrong. 

“Oh, pardon me. I can’t imagine what about your shining personality would make me think you take your coffee black and bitter.”

Keith lightened his glare and took a casual sip. “Actually, I prefer tea anyway.” 

Lance seemed surprised at that but recovered as he always did; cheesily and maybe a bit creepily. “Oh really? Well you know, I take my coffee like I take my men… In my lap.” 

And Keith wanted to scoff or argue but… “Did you just quote Childish Gambino?”

Lance blinked, seemingly stunned. “Uh, yeah. Are you saying you…”

Keith smiled a bit, small and a bit unintentional. “Listen to things other than MCR and Fall Out Boy? Yes.”

“Ha! So you admit you do listen to MCR!”

Keith took another sip of coffee, looking at Lance over the brim. “No comment.”

Lance smiled; warm, sunny, and vindicated. He lifted up his own mug and whispered across the brim, "Get fucked, Karen."

* * *

They’d actually been talking easily for like 30 minutes when Lance glanced down at his cup of coffee.

Okay, granted, _they_ was a term he used liberally, but still. It had been going surprisingly well. Keith seemed pretty content to sit there and listen to him tell dumbass stories, which was maybe kind of a first in general and was throwing him off a bit. And what did Lance do when he didn’t know what he was doing? Continue to talk, of course. 

What a wonderful and not at all self-destructive cycle. 

Seriously though, this was probably the most Lance had heard Keith say without screaming, like, ever. And that was mostly just small interjections and comments. 

The point was, it was going weirdly well, their plan was totally going to work at this rate, and Lance had been talking a lot.

He didn’t truly process this fact until looking down, though, and realizing that his mug was almost full with cold coffee. _Disgusting._

Lance almost left it at that, but then he realized he’d paid for a goddamn bottomless cup. And now it was all going to go to waste. 

Without skipping a beat, he began scanning around the restaurant, looking for anywhere he could dump the cold coffee. 

“So, yeah, I learned that the cafeteria _only_ serves chicken on Tuesdays, and that forced cannibalism is considered animal cruelty.” Lance finished. Keith looked like he was chuckling under his breath a bit—definitely a first. 

Lance scooted his chair back and Keith looked up, startled by the motion, and—oh god. That was a full blown smile, genuine and everything, coming from Keith Kogane. Because of _him_. _Lance_ had put it there. 

Lance had the vague thought that someone ought to alert the meteorologists that the sun was not, in fact, the brightest object visible on earth, but that they should check out Keith Kogane’s smile. 

Casting around for something, anything, that he wasn’t risking blindness by facing for too long, Lance finally located the bathroom and excused himself from the table. 

“Okay, cool, I was gonna go get more coffee anyway. You want me to grab you some?”

Lance looked down in panic at his still mostly full mug and moved backwards to lean against the table. He propped an elbow on the surface to block Keith’s view of his cup.

“Oh, no, I’m good. Thanks, though!” Lance’s arm shook a bit as he answered, unstably planted on the edge of the table. He struggled to keep a straight face but Keith seemed to buy it, strangely enough. 

Lance watched him head back up to the front and exhaled slowly. Not a Keith-level sigh, by any means, but an impressive one nonetheless.

* * *

Don't fuck with Pidge. 

That was something that most people learned quickly. Pidge's friends, random assholes on the street, that one frog that tried to live in their shower last year. Even the goddamn gender binary knew that you do not fuck with Pidge. 

So there was no way in hell those two idiots were going to get away with it. 

But the fact that Keith was so busy blushing—blushing!!—to notice when Pidge remotely adjusted the position of the café's security camera? That was enough to make Pidge wonder. 

Keith bordered on hyper vigilant at times, the kid never missed an opportunity to point out the omniscience of what he called Big Brother. 

Pidge, of course, thought the term had become rather sensationalized, and preferred to simply complain about "the damn commies". Nothing like some good old bolsephobia to comfort anyone who might be listening. 

Point being, Pidge's curiosity was officially piqued. 

When Keith had returned after the date last night, Pidge had mostly just checked for any visible wounds. Their absence was almost more notable than the faint smile Keith had worn. 

And while Keith had his moments, Pidge was pretty sure if he’d actually murdered Lance, he wouldn’t have been smiling. 

So, while coffee and revenge were mostly at the forefront of their brain, they had registered something as off. And they might have believed Keith, too. Which was astounding in itself, because the poor kid sometimes sounded like he was lying even when he was telling the truth. 

But then he’d gone and… there was no other word for it other than twirl. 

Pidge was all for defying stereotypes, but the only thing Keith wore more consistently than his leather jacket was a glare. He was absolutely not the type to _twirl_.

Now Lance wearing his Ass Jeans? Yeah, that had admittedly been concerning. Not enough to like, hire a pair of spies or anything. But enough that Pidge had decided to watch these two on the so-called “date”. 

Unfortunately, they’d chosen a café that had cameras but no microphones, so Pidge was stuck watching on mute like some twisted espial silent film

So if they thought they could get away with this, they were wrong. Even if they were playing civil, even if the rouge on Keith’s cheeks was only blooming as time went by, Pidge knew that it was only a matter of time before their volatile façade exploded. And Pidge was going to be there to see it all go down. 

* * *

When Keith returned to their table, Lance was seated again and… pretending to blow on his coffee? 

“Uh, what are you doing?”

Lance looked up nervously, eyes seeming to look everywhere but at Keith. He slid the cup back towards himself, across the table. The low grinding sound of ceramic on wood rattled through the awkward silence. Lance winced and responded, “Blowing on it. It’s uh, it’s hot.” He gestured over the top of the mug. “Yep. Very hot, you know, as coffee usually is.”

“Lance you’ve had the same cup of coffee for an hour now, I know it’s not hot anymore. What are you talking about?”

Keith didn’t mean to speak harshly. It didn’t matter to him if Lance wanted to sit there blowing on cold coffee, he just didn’t like the subterfuge. It felt like he was always getting lost in conversations with Lance, like there were three more layers beneath the surface and he was struggling to even make a dent in the first. If people would just say what they meant, everything would be so much simpler.

But Lance seemed to flinch at the bite in Keith’s words anyway. Great, now Keith felt guilty. 

“Um, yeah so I kind of got a bit majorly distracted in talking and didn’t drink hardly any of it? But I can’t get any more because there’s so much in here and I have no way to pour it out, the canisters of coffee only have enough room to catch drips, there’s no where else to put it unless I like slowly add hot coffee and immediately drink it lukewarm and eventually get through it, but I’d still have to drink the cold coffee at some point which is disgusting and slides down your throat like cough syrup from the 90s and—“

“Lance. Just take it to the counter and ask them to pour it out.” 

“What would I even say? ’Sorry I didn’t drink your coffee the first time, please dispose of it so I can drink more?’ No, Keith, I was just meant to suffer.”

It wasn’t that Keith was frustrated, but he just didn’t understand. How long had Lance been thinking about this? How did he even have room in his brain for this much worrying while he was talking the whole time?

“Okay, then take it to the bathroom and pour it out in the sink.”  


Lance had been gesturing with his hands for his whole tirade and they flew distractingly in the air now as he exclaimed, “What? I can’t do that! What would people think, some dude taking his full mug of coffee into the bathroom with him? What the fuck, there’s literally no situation in which that doesn’t look really weird and probably several in which it’s extremely suspicious! Besides, the secret agents are back there.”

“The… what?” Keith was officially lost now. He’d taken several wrong turns trying to follow Lance’s train of thought, but that train had now been thoroughly derailed and he was standing by the tracks contemplating whether to follow them or lay down on them.

“That couple, sitting at the table directly across from the bathroo—don’t look!” Lance whispered, shaking his head. “Tell me they don’t totally look like spies.”

Keith tried to less conspicuously get a look, leaning around so he could see over Lance’s shoulders. 

“Look at them both, wearing all black and speaking covertly. There’s no way they aren’t spies.”

They did, indeed, look weirdly perfect. Like they’d been planted there, even. 

“Maybe Pidge sent them to spy on our ‘date’”. 

Lance’s features lit up at the prospect. “Oh my god, what if they did? What if they’re surveilling us right now? That would be so _awesome_. But I’d want to know how Pidge knows such fancy people. Like the girl looks so cool and mysterious, way too pretty to just be walking around casually having coffee.”

Keith scoffed, ready to scold Lance. Was he really going to try to flirt with some girl while they were on their own fake date?

“And the guy? Can you see those biceps? I want him to benchpress me, god.”

What?

Keith must have given him a strange look, because Lance is nodding emphatically now. 

“What? I’m an equal-opportunity kind of guy.”

There was a suitably awkward pause.

“Not like threesomes! Oh my god, I just meant I’m bisexual. You look so scandalized, Keith, that’s hilarious.”

Keith wasn’t _scandalized_ , but he was… Um. He was feeling something. 

“Oh. Okay.” 

“Did you seriously not know? You thought Hunk set me up with a guy without me even liking guys?”

“Pidge didn’t tell me your gender when they told me about the date, so?”

Lance blinked, pausing a bit. God, Keith was so lost. “Well, yeah, but you’re gay? So it was probably safe to assume?”

“How… how did you know that?” 

Lance was finally looking as confused as Keith felt by this whole turn of events. “Was I not supposed to notice? It’s… kinda obvious dude.”

“Oh.” Keith said calmly. 

Keith was not calm. 

_What the fuck else is_ obvious _?_

If Lance knew that, he might know all kinds of other things that were more than tangentially related to Keith’s sexuality and shit, this was the worst idea Keith’s ever had. 

Keith glanced frantically around the coffee shop, looking for something, anything to _stop this conversation._ Lance started to open his mouth and Keith panicked. 

He borderline dove across the table and stole Lance’s mug before downing the whole thing in one long swig. 

The cold coffee kind of… slimed its way down his throat. A long and involuntary shudder worked its way up Keith’s frame. That was some nasty shit. How did Karen do it? 

Keith wasn’t exactly proud of how impulsive he was, but honestly more than often it worked out for him, so he wasn’t about to stop anytime soon. Keith set the mug back down, trying not to slam it like the nasty shot glass it kind of felt like. Lance was staring at him, looking absolutely bewildered. 

But he had shut up, so. Worth it. 

Keith cleared his throat, breaking the silence but mainly trying to work the chilling taste out of his mouth. Which only brought it back more. He coughed a bit and grimaced. “Well, uh. There you go. Coffee problem solved.” 

Lance’s jaw dropped a bit and he tilted his head to the side like some kind of goddamn puppy. Seriously, sometimes Keith was too gay to even function. 

Okay, so maybe Lance had a point about it being obvious.

“I’m not sure whether to be scared or like… inspired. What the fuck, man. I can’t believe you actually swallowed that.” 

Keith flushed a bit at that last part but Lance didn’t seem to notice. He just shrugged and coughed slightly into a fist. “Well, I’m not doing that again, so you’d better go get yourself some fresh coffee, idiot.”

Lance really must have been scared because he followed that as if it were an order, immediately nodding and grabbing the mug. He left in what could only be described as a scurry. 

Keith did not watch him go. 

He returned shortly anyway, presumably with a fresh cup of “fuck off, Karen”. 

He sipped at it but still seemed decidedly unnerved. Keith had wanted to kill _that specific_ conversation, not all conversation between them forever. Damn it, it was literally never a good idea to rely on Keith’s conversation skills. 

So he knew it was probably going to crash and burn but he opened his mouth anyway. “I still don’t get why it was such a big deal. Do you really care that much about what people think of you? They’re strangers.”

Because Lance was, well, _Lance_. He drew people in wherever he went, with an ease that was one of the first things Keith noticed about him. Social situations seemed effortless for him. Never once had Keith seen Lance struggle to find the right words or ease the tension in a conversation. It was something Keith had always been envious of, something he couldn’t relate to at all. So it just didn’t make sense for Lance to be so concerned about his cup of coffee. 

But, as usual, about a third of what Keith was _trying_ to say actually made its way out of his mouth. 

Lance glared at the ground, not looking up as he answered, “Yeah, well that’s the problem.” It was in a forced tone, his teeth nearly grinding together. “I’m not great with strangers. Why do you think I make such a point of talking to them?”

What? If he wasn’t good with strangers, that would mean he wouldn’t want to talk them, right? “Because you’re… friendly? Or you’re trying to flirt?” Keith didn’t get this conversation at all. Was that a question Lance actually wanted an answer to? 

Lance closed his eyes and let out a deep breath through his nose. “No, asshole, it’s because if I talk to them, then they’re not strangers anymore.”

This was the softest Keith had ever heard Lance speak and it was kind of freaking him out. “Yeah, but. They’re strangers. So who cares if they judge you, they don’t even know you.” 

That finally got Lance to look up again, his voice taking on a much fiercer edge. “Jesus, Keith, we can’t all be the unaffected bad boy like you. And I know you think I have the emotional depth of a kiddie pool, so this is going to be hard for you to understand, but I am actually capable of feelings. And sometimes they get the best of you, which you’d know if you actually had any.” 

Keith just sat in stunned silence. He’d never seen Lance this… angry wasn’t the right word. He looked… disappointed. 

Which, fuck that. Where did Lance get off being disappointed in Keith? Like he hadn’t known what he was getting into, like he didn’t know Keith responded to anything he didn’t understand with aggression. It wasn’t a healthy coping mechanism, but it was just about his signature move at this point. 

Keith leaned forward, face heating up. He scoffed, “Oh, fuck you. Excuse me for trying to help.”

“I don’t need _anyone’s_ help. You got that, _Keith_?” Lance snapped. 

How did Lance always manage to say his name like it was an insult? He’d forgotten just how infuriating it was. Keith bared his teeth, unable to come up with a more creative response than another fuck you. 

Lance shook his head and sighed. “Whatever, man.” He took another sip of the stupid coffee and muttered, “Good thing this isn’t a real date.”

Which… stung. More than it should have. Enough to break Keith out of his anger. He checked his watch. “It’s been like two hours. If Pidge is really watching us, they should have been seen more than enough. I’m out of here.” Keith stood up abruptly, grabbing both mugs and heading to the counter. 

He smiled, saccharine, at the employee who took the dishes and walked out, not bothering to wait for Lance. 

His dramatic exit continued all the way to the parking lot as he mounted his bike, not bothering to fish out the helmet. Keith finally allowed himself a glance back over his shoulder, but either Lance had gone the opposite direction or he’d yet to leave the café at all. Keith left anyway. 

The rush of wind against his face, unencumbered by any protection, was sobering. So maybe Keith hadn’t handled the situation in the best way possible, but when had time alone with Lance ever ended well?

He was just so goddamn frustrating to be around. Alluring, brilliant even, but blinding. Never annoying, just. Too much. In the best and worst of ways. How he could be so attractive and kind with others, but the moment he turned to Keith it was to make a snide comment about his hair or otherwise provoke him. Like he was constantly looking for a fight and wasn’t above making one himself if he couldn’t find any. 

And it was admittedly startling to get a peek behind the curtain into who Lance _really_ was. To see that he perhaps wasn’t the shameless flirt or the unfailing rival he claimed to be. 

He turned the corner, nearly touching the curb with his bike. 

Was Keith still pissed? Absolutely. But he was also starting to think that there were a lot of things he still didn’t know about Lance. To realize that sometimes the image one projects might actually be illuminating what’s underneath. 

Back inside, Lance still sat at the corner table, the shadows hiding the slight redness in his eyes as he stared at nothing. 

**Author's Note:**

> next time: some Happy!  
> and then: some Shit.  
> and finally: some Happy Shit!


End file.
